No Story Ends Before It's Started
by Specificitydarling
Summary: She goes back to him the day after they graduate. Dan/Serena - ignoring any spoilers for season 2.


She goes back to him the day after they graduate. She hasn't talked to him in way too long but she knows he's not dating anybody because he is now a regular on Gossip Girl. And because she asked Jenny. She's kept tabs from afar, using her connections and all her spare time. He's like an obsession and her mother has mentioned this fact more than once.

He's holding a glass of champagne and making small talk with someone she never bothered to meet when she finally goes up to him. It takes her an hour to do just that and she wishes he would pour his glass over her and make a scene. Because she knows how to deal with that. Because it would be so much easier than actually talking to him. Because when he turns around, with a look of confusion and expectation and every emotion they fit into their year together on his face, she's totally lost.

Time passes and she says nothing and he repeats her name. It sounds different, a mixture of maturity and harshness added to it, but it still has the same effect on her. She blushes and says something stupid like: _So how have you been?_

He raises an eyebrow, but plays along with her game. For which, she can't thank him enough. _Good, busy. You?_ Possible answers roll through her mind: _great, okay, desperate, miserable._ How much do you tell someone you haven't talked to in two years? Then she remembers who she's talking to (or not talking to) and that she never really had a choice.

_I need to talk to you. _She says simply and whether or not he agrees, he seems to accept it as inevitable and this gives her the faintest glimmer of hope. He follows her out of the crowded room, passing too many familiar faces on the way and onto the balcony. He opens the door for her and she finally realises that he hasn't changed one bit. And she loves him all the more for it, but at the same time, it fills her with dread. If he couldn't forgive her then, how can he now?

He waits for her, expectantly, fiddling with his glass as he refuses to look her in the eye. Another thing she is grateful for. She runs her fingers through her hair, remembers when he used to do the same and decides that it's now or never. The thought of spending another minute as she spent the last couple of years propels her towards now. _I've been thinking..._she hopes for a witty comment but then remembers that she's the one that always interrupts.

_I've been thinking that this was all a huge mistake. _He doesn't understand at first and she doesn't really blame him. _I don't want this anymore._ She says, hoping to clarify, although she doesn't think she's done a very good job. He looks around as if wondering what the hell he has to do with this. _Serena, this is your reality._He says it with a sigh, she can see that he has accepted that it would never be his and she's glad for that. She didn't fall in love with an Upper East Sider.

It's chilly for a May evening and she shivers. He offers his jacket, she expected no less, but she refuses because she's not quite ready to be engulfed in his scent once again. He takes another sip of his champagne and she finally decides to continue. _There are different kinds of realities. There are the lies we tell ourselves and the truths we wish we could believe. _

She's quite proud of thinking of it like that and he lets out a breath as if to say _That's deep_. Silence surrounds them once again and she wonders whether they will ever be able to talk normally again. Have a conversation instead of this; jagged ends of sentences piercing one another. She looks him in the eye for the first time, hoping that he can see all the things she can't bear to say just yet. _I'm sorry. Forgive me. I miss you. I love you._

It seems to work, or maybe his mind made the connection. Because he puts a hand on her arm, ignoring how she flinches at the gentle contact. _Which reality are we?_ He asks. It's a raw question, their future depending on how she chooses to answer it. _I think..._She starts, and then looks around for a moment, searching for words, courage, hope. All the people inside seem like strangers, and she wonders how she got along with some of them for so long. _I think we are the third reality_.

He's surprised, that much is obvious. She notices that his hand is still on her shoulder, as if keeping her grounded. He opens his mouth for a second before actually speaking, _Which is? _She covers his hand with her own, not really able to believe that they were there right now. Together. _We are the story we make for ourselves._

His hand starts to snake up her shoulder, up to her neck and she's pretty sure he murmurs _Serena_. She thinks back to everything that happened and finally to the three sheets of paper in her drawer, worn and ripped from too much handling. _Stories are rewritten all the time._

His hand is now on her cheek and she reaches up to cup his. They are both reluctant to move. They have been healing, to a degree and this would rip apart every single stitch they have sewn. Her blue eyes gazed into his brown ones so intently; it would've been romantic if it wasn't so painful.

_I'm sorry. _She's not quite sure who said it, or if they both said it. But she's sure that she's ready to start over. She leans closer and he does the same and the glimmer of hope is a little wider now. _Do you want to rewrite ours? _She whispers, half afraid of the answer, half thrilled for the possibilities. He doesn't break their gaze, just nods slightly and that's really all they need. Their lips meet in a gentle concurrence, apologising quietly. It's not without passion though, and she can't believe she hasn't done this for so long. They break apart before it's time, because in their new story, things start off slow. But he looks at her and she finally smiles, really smiles. And their glimmer of hope is more of a firework again.


End file.
